“Or nudge me—give me a wink and I’ll delay the dinner with my charming hosting powers. And by that I mean I’ll serve a round of sherry.” Harley smirks.
All three laugh in the comfort of their room. “I’m used to this place now,” Dove says. “Odd to think I’ve got only another week and then I’m off….” She whisks herself right to a tropical image. “Just think—from this”—she does a brrrr with her arms wrapped around her small frame—“to lying on the beach.”
“Sounds like a good time,” Harley says. “But don’t go anywhere just yet. We still need you—and your services.”
“Thanks,” Dove says. Harley’s not all tough—and she’s not all sweetness, either. A good mixture. Dove pauses. “Was that the doorbell?”
Melissa shrugs. “I don’t know, but we better get going if we want a run before reporting to the Main House. Another cycle of people in here—another round of who knows what.”
“Does another round mean anything for you with your romantic entanglements?” Dove asks Melissa while Harley’s in the bathroom.
“I don’t know,” Melissa says. “It’s all up in the air. Who ever thought that it would get this complicated? And it’s not. Not really. But I …”
“You’re just confused, that’s all,” Dove says.
“It’s like my past self—the one that wanted Gabe Schroeder—still wants him. Not only because I couldn’t have him before, though that’s part of it, but also because he’s great.” Melissa, still in her pajamas, listens. “I swear that’s the doorbell again.”
“I’ll get it!” Harley shouts from the bathroom. “Hey—I just shouted! And no one yelled at me! Cool!”
With the guests packing or gone, some grabbing a croissant for the road, the chalet staff can be dressed out of uniform, yell, and generally slob around until the next shift starts all over again. “But, Dove?” Melissa pulls on a sweater and thick socks, ready for a run down the mountain. “There’s a part of me that likes JMB … sorry, James—more. He was the first person I met here who got my attention—and it had nothing to do with Gabe.”
“So why not just pursue James, then?”
“You know why,” Melissa whispers.
Dove looks out the door, checking to see if Harley’s coming. “She doesn’t know?”
Melissa shakes her head. “With all of the confusion and names and stress and … no. The point is, no I didn’t tell Harley. Plus, I still don’t know what he thinks—if he thinks anything. Probably all this confusion is over nothing. Gabe is terrific—and I should just be happy I finally got what I wanted.”
“I know what you mean,” Dove says, letting each word leak out slowly.
Melissa’s eyes widen. “What’s this? The tight-lipped Dovelet is going to speak?”
“Oh, come on,” Dove says and chucks a ball of socks at Melissa. “I’m not that bad.” She pulls Melissa over to the window and points to the pathway. “See him?”
“Who, Max?” They both stare out the window at him, their breath making condensation circles on the glass.
“Yes.”
“But you …,” Melissa starts, then stops herself.
“But I … right. I have my ticket. And I’m sure—one hundred percent sure. Well, not that sure—nothing’s that sure, right? Ninety-eight percent sure that going to the islands, following William there, is the best thing for me.”
“So what about Max?”
“Same thing—there’s nothing here now, really. Okay, maybe there’s something. But I can’t help but think life would just be limitless—people would just filter in and out if you didn’t pick something and stick to it.” She puts a finger to the window, pointing to Max, and at that moment he turns around and squints in their direction.
Dove ducks down, laughing. “Do you think he saw me?”
Melissa cracks up. “No—he’s too far away.”
“Anyway, he has nothing to do with my present—”
“Except that he’s in it—which is more than William can say….” Melissa puts her hand on her mouth. “Oh, that came out wrong.”
“William is completely in my present….” Dove looks annoyed, then softens. “No—I get what you’re saying. Max is nothing—just a memory. And he’s leaving today, so it doesn’t matter.”
Melissa and Dove stare out the window again, this time without Max in view. Then, footsteps from behind them. At the doorway, Max stands with fresh snow still cloaking his coat. His eyes penetrate the distance to Dove.
“I’m just a memory?” he asks.
Dove opens her mouth to speak, but doesn’t know what to say. Melissa excuses herself from the room. “I better see if Harley needs help.”
“Don’t leave on my account,” Max says to Melissa. “I’m only here to ask Dove one thing.”
Dove raises her eyebrows, looking dignified even though she’s in her pajamas. “Fine—I should be able to tolerate one question.”
Max takes two long steps into the room, close enough to Dove that he can see her hands shaking. She can see the flecks of yellow in his eyes and wonders if she’d noticed them before, way back when, in the past. “If I’m just a memory, then I’ll let you close the door.”
“What do you mean?” Dove leans on the bed frame to keep from swaying. He always made her feel like this—a mix of comfort and unsteadiness, whereas William was more exuberant; he made her excited.
“What I mean is,” Max says, matter-of-factly, “is that you and I have this unfinished history. And sometimes that’s just it—it’s better left undone.” He leans next to her, their legs touching, until Max moves away. “My parents are leaving today.”
“I know—it’s time for turnaround,” Dove says.
“They’ve given me the choice of staying on another week. Classes don’t start for ages—and I’ve finished my papers, anyway.”
“You did always like to get your work done early,” Dove says. She thinks how last-minute William is—the charm of his sudden ideas, his quick planning. Or his oversight in calling her and then fumbling for a reason.
“See? You refer to me as being in your past, yet you’re the one who brings up the fact that we know each other now.”
“I’m only being …”
“Polite? This …” Max sweeps his palm between his chest and Dove. “This is just part of your job description?”
“No.” Dove’s chest pounds. “It’s not that. It’s just not—being with you—having you here makes my life messy. Complicated. And it shouldn’t be like that. It should just be …”
Max goes to the door. “Well, then I think you’ve answered my question.”
Dove pauses, wiping her hands on her face. “What do you mean? What question?”
Max clears his throat. “My parents said I can stay. I’ve decided to turn that question over to you. Do you want me to stay another week? Here. At The Tops?”
Dove’s mouth hangs open. Max goes on. “Whatever you decide, I’ll do—no questions, no implications.” Max leans his tall frame into the doorjamb. Dove watches him, tracing her eyes over his face, his arms, hands, then back to his eyes. Dove hears the words, lets them fall from Max’s mouth around her like snow, like birds, knowing she’ll have to come up with an answer.
In the corridor, Melissa looks for her boots.
“Hey!” Harley says, popping her head down the stairs for just a second. She’s already in her jeans and skintight white turtleneck. “Are we going or what?” Melissa asks. “I thought we were headed for the trails.”
Harley takes a few steps on the staircase, her face serious, her voice breathy. “You need to come upstairs—quick!”
“Why? What’s the big deal?” Melissa asks.
Harley peers at her again, hands flailing. “That doorbell?”
“Is it someone for me?” Melissa gives Harley a confused glance.
“It’s more than one person for you,” Harley says. “For us.”
Gabe? JMB? Someone from home? “Who?” Melissa asks. “And why are y
ou so serious?”
Harley huffs down to the same step where Melissa is. “I’m not trying to freak you out or anything, but I think you’ll want to see what’s upstairs.”
“Of course—no one’s hurt or anything, are they?” Melissa thinks about something happening to JMB, how she’d feel—or to Gabe. Then she thinks briefly about spilling her crush to Harley, that maybe they should get everything out in the open before Holiday Week starts. “Harl—can I tell you something?”
Harley holds her hand up. “Now’s not the time.”
Melissa blushes faster than ever before, her cheeks their own holiday decoration. “Right. Of course.”
As Dove deals with her own forced decision downstairs, Harley drags Melissa into the living room.
“One thing—before we get in there,” Harley says to Melissa. “You were always nice to me. Even on that first day when I was full of attitude.” Melissa smiles. “But I just wanted to say—if I ever seemed bitchy—or something—it’s only because I’m determined to get my way.”
“With James, you mean?” Melissa says softly, feeling herself tense with the sound of his name. JMB. James. She pushes any traces of crush for him aside, or away, and brings back the feeling of being with Gabe on the mountaintop—the constellations.
Harley looks back at Melissa, pausing for long enough that Melissa wonders if Harley knows. If she’s aware that James might have more than one fan. “He’s leaving.”
“What?” Melissa’s stomach registers the blow.
“James told me yesterday—he’s leaving. Some race somewhere.” She shrugs, like now she’ll have to follow him elsewhere, leaving Melissa to wallow in the news. “But part of me wonders if it’s something else.”
In the living room, the guests’ cases are stacked by the door. Each trunk and leather duffel is worn-out enough so that it’s clear they’re well traveled, but clean enough to offer up the fact that they’ve been toted by bellhops and sherpas. Upon final signal, the bags will be sent down to the Main House, leaving the guests to check out and walk freely to their transportation.
“So, Harley?” asks the countess. She’s dressed for the plane ride, elegant in her camelhair skirt and white blouse, as though there weren’t three new feet of snow outside.
“Excuse me for one second,” Melissa says to the countess and earl. When she has Harley off to the side, she asks, “What’s the important thing—why’d you drag me up here? Aside from the fact that we had to vacate to give Dove and Max some room?”
Harley shrugs. “Nothing. I just wanted to show you that they liked me, in case you had any doubts. They like my hosting. ‘Refreshing and honest,’ the earl said. The countess said she liked my candor. Whatever.”
“So?” Melissa asks. “They came back after checking out to tell you that? I mean, that’s great and everything, but I thought you had something for me….”
“That I do.” Harley pulls three red envelopes from her back pocket, slyly showing them to Melissa. “They came back with this!” She thrusts the envelope marked Melissa Forsythe toward her. “Quick—open it—I’m so curious.”
“Oh crap!” Melissa says too loudly, then coughs to cover it. “I can’t wait to see … hey—mine’s opened.” Her mouth falls to a frown and she looks at Harley.
“Sorry—I rushed—I saw The Tops and just ripped it. I didn’t count it or anything, I swear.”
Melissa tilts her head, looking at Harley through her spirals of hair. “Okay…. I guess, but next time …” Melissa’s voice trails off when she sees the money inside. “Jeez—I never thought … oh …” She smiles as she counts the bills. They liked me, too. They liked my food. Or at least they liked my effort. And Dove’s. I know there’s no tip sharing, but Dove did cover me for that first breakfast, those croissants, the roast while I was stranded….
“Let’s see what Dove got,” Harley says, and before Melissa reaches out a hand to stop her, she opens the second envelope. “Man, looks like they dig clean rooms.” She parades the wad of cash in front of Melissa.
“Guess I won’t have to share after all,” Melissa says, glad Dove did well. Dove needs money to pay Harley back, to get ready for the trip to see William, to get farther away from her parents’ financial grasp. “Now what about you, if you’re so nosy …” Melissa swipes Harley’s sealed envelope and taunts her but doesn’t open it.
If they got that much in tips, I can only imagine what I’m about to receive as host of it all…. Harley slips her pointer finger under the envelope flap, all smiles and haughty looks until she sees what’s inside.
“What’s wrong?” Melissa leans forward.
“There’s nothing in it.” Harley locks her jaw, angry and confused. “Just a note.”
“Well, at least read it,” Melissa says, and pats Harley’s back to try and comfort her.
Harley sucks air in through her teeth. “You guys’ll share, right?”
Melissa’s eyes convey her conflict. “Sorry—Matron specifically said we can’t … and you just repeated those very words to me when—”
“Never mind,” Harley says. “Dove owes me—I’m sure she can think of a way to pay me back.”
Melissa thinks back to all the teas, the meals, the desserts, the brownie swirls, and acidophilus cakes for the countess. I earned my money. She thinks about Dove’s scrubbing and changed soiled sheets, the earl’s request for new soap every day, Luke and Diggs and their scruffy ways. Dove earned her money, too. Not that Harley doesn’t deserve it, but maybe the rewards of being a host were just getting to have more free time. “At least you got a good time out of it,” Melissa says.
Harley takes the cream-colored note card out of the red envelope, reads it, and slides it back in without revealing its contents, her eyes flickering with news.
“What?” Melissa asks.
“Nothing—just a job well done is all,” Harley says, but her lips curl up, hiding a huge smile. Just as Melissa is working up the courage to ask again what the note says, Harley adds another issue to the pile. “And—even though I said I could go skiing early today with you and Dove …” Harley pushes her hair behind her ears. “I might not be able to.”
“Why not?” Melissa asks. “Hot date?”
Harley looks caught off guard. “Maybe. What’s it to you?” she laughs, but there’s a pointedness to the question. “You never did tell me about your big crush here.”
Melissa’s throat tightens. I can’t say anything—what is there to explain, anyway? That liking one guy who wants you as his buddy, then hooking up with his best friend as a replacement who turns out to be pretty great isn’t an easy situation? That the first guy is the guy you like? Nope—definitely not saying anything now. Maybe I’ll tell her during Holiday Week. Or not.
The countess glides over to where Harley and Melissa are standing. “Girls—it’s been lovely. A pleasure. We must go.” She looks at Harley. “Have you made your decision, Harley?”
Melissa looks confused as Harley hems and haws.
“I know—it’s sudden.” The earl steps over. “But we think you’ll love it.”
Harley wrinkles her nose. “I’m not sure…. I came here to …” She looks at Melissa. “To take care of some things and I’m not sure I could …”
The countess brushes the earl aside. He sits in a plush chair in his dark jeans and flawless loafers, his button-down shirt complemented by his monogrammed cufflinks. Diggs and Luke yell from outside. Jemma stands by the doorway, waiting.
The countess looks at Melissa. “You’ll find another hostess, won’t you? Or—we can suggest that you be the hostess. And that other girl—she could be the cook, yes?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand….” Melissa looks at the countess and then at Harley, hoping for a clue.
The countess steps in, offering a small smile and the scent of mango from her pricey perfume. “We’re headed to the islands for the sun part of our holiday and we’d like Harley to come with us.”
“Sun?” Melissa asks
, realizing she’s parroting the countess and perhaps sounding foolish. Her mouth is agog. That’s Harley’s tip? A ticket elsewhere?
“Sun and fun,” the earl says, puffing his chest out as though he created the sun and the islands. “All the rage at home—half ski holiday, half beach.”
Harley drinks in the information. “And when are you headed there, exactly? And which island?” Harley hates that she’s not well traveled, that she can’t identify with the wealthy and wonderful—yet.
“It’s a small island in the Lesser Antilles. We have a cottage there. You could use the cabana. But we’re leaving now, of course. Flight’s in four hours. Of course, we have to get to the airport and check our luggage.”
“Cabana?” Harley says, taking a turn at imitating. The Lesser Antilles sounds familiar to her but she can’t think why. Four hours. I won’t have time to say good-bye. She checks her watch. James said he was leaving this morning, anyway. And I’ve never been anywhere tropical. I might never have the chance to go ever again.
“It’s fully functional—with a small kitchen.”
“And what would I be doing?” Harley stares at the wad of money in Melissa’s back pocket, thinking how much easier it would be to have received a compliment in cash. But maybe that’s one of life’s lessons—you can’t predict what will happen or why. And she should be grateful for the potential of going somewhere new. If I can keep working with the earl and countess, maybe they’ll double my tips—in two weeks I could have what I counted on making the entire season. Or maybe I’ll just travel with them, sucking up new cultures and places.
“What you do here,” the countess says. “Host, relax with the children, keep Diggs mildly entertained….” She clasps her leather bag and adjusts her silk scarf. “Luke is going home; Diggs will be with us—before his stint in America.”
The earl butts in. “The USA—right. To the Northeast.”
“Oh, whereabouts?” asks Melissa, trying to be polite while Harley picks at her cuticles.
“One of the oldest prep schools in the country—Hadley Hall. Outside of Boston. They do a reciprocal with Diggs’ school. He’ll be there for a term.”
Balancing Acts Page 20